


Thunder Lotus

by LdotRage (ObliviousInsomniac)



Category: RWBY
Genre: Bullying, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Orphans, Physical Abuse, Pre-Series, Slow Burn, Synesthesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 23:06:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6586495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliviousInsomniac/pseuds/LdotRage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Poor boy. I can't possibly imagine those two getting along." Eight-year-old Lie Ren was prepared for a lot when he enrolled at Pharos Academy, a pre-combat school. He was not prepared for his partner to be an overwhelming and annoying girl named Nora Valkyrie. He was even less prepared for them to become best friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunder Lotus

**Prologue / / Lie Ren**

 

_ The night before he leaves for combat school, he shears off all of his hair. _

_ It’s a somewhat impulsive but nonetheless calculated act of rebellion. Utterly harmless, and something his mother will see no problem with. Just enough to drive his father crazy, but not anything substantial enough to provide grounds for actual punishment. _

_ It takes him hours to get through it. At midnight, when he’s usually sound asleep, enjoying the void that unconsciousness brings, he’s instead kneeling on the cold, hard marble counter in the bathroom, his ponytail clutched within one shaking fist. For at least an hour, he holds the scissors open, poised to chop it off; fingers trembling in anticipation. As much as he’s thought this through; as much as he knows that there’s no way his father will do anything more than glare at him; as much as he’s sure his mother will be on his side, he just can’t convince his hands to get it over with. They’re still trapped in the fantastical anxiety that, maybe, just this once, his mother won’t come to his aid. And who knows what his father will do in the absence of his mom’s protection? For all the fuss he affords it, the actual deed lasts for less than a second. He just squeezes his eyes shut and, in one fell swoop, severs the ponytail entirely from his head. The choppy pieces of hair remaining spring up and fall into his face. _

_ When his mother finds him the next morning, guiltily hiding the scissors he’d used and trying to straighten the uneven black locks on his head, she only sighs and gently pries the scissors from his hands. She does something to the ends of his hair and, through some unknown witchcraft, manages to make every lock lie flat. Predictably, his father’s face becomes deathly pale when he sees it, and Ren suspects he might’ve gotten the tongue-lashing of a lifetime had his mother not intercepted it with a stern look. “Are we all ready to leave?” she asks rhetorically to fill the silence that inevitably ensues. When his father strides away with a scoff, she directs her next words to Ren. “Your bag is in the car already, dear.” _

_ Ren says “Thank you.” When his mom’s hand comes to rest carefully on the back of his head, he pretends that the tension doesn’t drain from his shoulders noticeably. His father slams the door behind him. _

_ Then she whispers, “If you change yourself to anger him, have you won?” and his stomach curls into a tight knot. Unprecedented heat builds behind his eyes, and he becomes very interested in the world outside the nearest window. She doesn’t press; just moves her hand down to the small of his back and gently steers him out the door into the brisk autumn day. _

_ The back of his neck is cold. He misses his hair. _

* * *

 

“Ren? Are you ready?”

It was the soothing voice of his mother that awoke him when they arrived. He stirred, then slowly opened his eyes, vaguely aware his mom had said something to him. Whatever she’d said, he had missed it entirely.

It was too early for this.

With a quiet groan, he fisted his eyes, blinking sleepy moisture from them as he stared up at the front seat of the car. Only now did he realize that they had long since come to a stop in some parking lot or other. His mother had twisted around to meet his eyes from the gap between the driver’s seat and passenger’s seat, and his father was staring ahead impatiently, as always. “Well?” he snapped when Ren took too long to answer the question. “We haven’t got all day, you know!” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently, as if he actually had somewhere else to be. Ren managed to resist the urge to roll his eyes for fear of being caught in the rearview mirror, but it was a close thing.

Yeah. It was far too early for any of this nonsense.

Mrs. Lie glanced sharply at her husband and exhaled harshly through her nose in warning. He made a vague noise of indignation but did not retaliate. “You don’t have to worry, Ren,” she assured her son, ignoring her husband’s grumble of disagreement. “We’re here early anyway.”

Ren hadn’t worried to begin with. He nodded anyway.

He didn’t have to say anything. Without a word, his mother reached down beneath her seat and handed his suitcase back to him. He only had one, unlike most children his age when sent off to boarding school. He travelled light. The only things he deemed necessary were basic hygiene items. A toothbrush. Toothpaste. A few clean shirts. His favorite green jacket. Two pairs of pants. Socks. Underwear. The only other thing he’d bothered to pack was books, but he limited himself to four, knowing that, otherwise, he would probably have ended up bringing the entire library with him―which, although tempting, was probably not a good idea.

As he straightened his novels, ignoring his father’s dirty looks, he thought blankly that he probably should’ve brought one more. Four was one of his least favorite numbers. She was a total jerk and always took advantage of the fact that six was too nice to tell her off. Then he remembered that it was precisely this kind of thinking that his father despised.

_ Numbers don’t have personalities, Ren. _

He removed  _ Whistling Winds _ from his bag. Three was a much nicer number than four. When his mother asked him about it, he gauged his father’s current mood, deemed it too risky to tell the truth, and replied, “It won’t fit.”

She spotted the lie, but didn’t call it. Instead, she just sighed deeply and slid out of the car with a certain grace that no one could quite replicate. Within seconds, she had circled the car and was holding the door open for him. Ren clutched his bag to his chest and jumped onto the ground. For a seven-year-old, it was a long jump, but he was unfazed. The steady breeze from earlier had harshened, he noticed dully as his mother’s ponytail swung idly in the wind. A few scarlet leaves twisted through the air in front of him and he felt an unexplainable pang in his chest.

His father didn’t leave the car and made no motion to accompany them up to the school. Ren didn’t mind. Neither did his mother, evidently, because she didn’t attempt to drag her husband along. She just gently plucked Ren’s bag from his hands and tucked it under her arm. Warm, strong fingers enveloped his hand, and he offered her a rare smile, which she returned wholeheartedly, before they both turned their attention to the imposing building in front of them.

Pharos Academy wasn’t the most prestigious of combat schools―that would be Beacon and Signal, without a doubt―but it certainly wasn’t underwhelming with its huge, ornate main building. Besides, going to such a prominent pre-combat school pretty much guaranteed you got a full ride to Beacon, and the tuition here was next to nothing. And, unlike Signal and Beacon, which were both four-year institutions, Pharos was a ten-year deal, which saved the hassle of switching schools every few years and readjusting to a new campus and new rules every time.

His mother tightened her grip on his hand, as if afraid he would float away. It wasn’t an entirely ludicrous thought. “Ren?” she prompted gently. “Shall we go inside?”

Pharos Academy was a ten-year deal. Summer vacations were optional, and visiting days were sparse. If he went through that door, there was no going back. His daily interactions with his mother would all end. He’d be forced to share his life instead with some hyperactive child, likely one who knew nothing of combat. More than likely, his partner would grow tired of his quiet nature and treat him just as poorly as the children had in his civilian grade school. And, if he tired of the Hunter’s life however-many years in, or if he discovered he just wasn’t cut out for it, it would be far too late to go back to civilian school. If he went through that door, his entire life would change, very possibly for the worse.

But, more urgently, if he went through that door, he wouldn’t see his father for the next ten years.

“Yes, let’s,” Ren said decisively with a nod, striding up the steps and into his new home.

Perhaps this home would work out better than the last.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote the original version of this before Volume 1 was over, and it sorta sucked, so here's the new and improved version.  
> Also, yes, this will be Renora eventually, because Renora is endgame.


End file.
